


Mornings

by skies



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Autistic Carlos, Chronic Illness, Disability, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skies/pseuds/skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some fluff exploring the headcanons that Cecil has Post-Treatment Lyme Disease Syndrome and Carlos is on the Autism spectrum, and just Cecil and Carlos’s relationship in general. Takes place a while after “First Date,” although no actual spoilers.</p>
<p>(Written in either May or June 2013, I think. This has been up on tumblr but it's taken me 11 months to stick it on AO3. Amazing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings

Sometimes, it hurts to wake up. Actually, it always hurts to wake up. But what else can we expect from our fraught and tiny human existences, right?

Cecil wakes at 10:16 AM every day, without an alarm clock and with very little input from his conscious mind. This is with the exception of Thursdays, when the neighbors above him tend to engage in a long bout of loud and rhythmic chanting sometime between 7:00 and 9:20 AM. Today is not a Thursday. Cecil’s not sure yet what day today is going to be, but in the long run, does that really matter?

He keeps his eyes closed for a minute and listens to the muted sound of typing from the kitchen. Carlos has taken to typing on his laptop in the apartment in the mornings, and he is always there when Cecil wakes. Cecil assumes he’s writing up reports or something. Very important science reports.

Carlos knows Cecil’s waking pattern by heart now, too, and thus two minutes later Cecil opens his eyes to soft footsteps and Carlos, beautiful Carlos, walking to him in his lab coat, sunlight in the doorway to the bedroom lighting him up like an etheric being. Cecil has seen etheric beings, and they’re not as beautiful as Carlos.

Carlos stands with a steaming mug, smiling, at least half to himself, as he looks down at Cecil. Cecil pushes himself up with a silent groan and sits back against the headboard, joints protesting like desperate citizens torn down by the punch of rubber bullets.

Carlos places the mug, which is always coffee, black, gently in his hands and kisses his forehead. Cecil already hurts less. Carlos is like the best analgesic.

"Good morning, my beautiful man," Cecil says, raspy with sleep, words digging up warmth.

"Morning, love," Carlos murmurs against his temple.

Carlos sits next to him on the bed and he sips the coffee. Cecil beams at Carlos with all the light he can muster. The coffee is helping. Carlos is helping. Carlos always helps.

They kiss twice before leaving the apartment to go their separate ways, both tasting of coffee. Carlos’s coffee taste is sweeter from the sugar he adds. Cecil can taste it lingering for an hour, although that might just be his imagination.

He starts that day’s broadcast: “Routine is the bright spark in the cold and unforgiving night of our short, meaningless lives. Welcome to Night Vale.”

 

***

 

Sometimes, but only sometimes, Cecil wakes warm in the embrace of his sweet scientist. This makes him happy, but also sad, because usually this means Carlos is going to have a bad day. The kind of day where it takes him an hour to start doing something it should have taken two minutes to get to and he sheds tears, in private, of frustration. Cecil wants to kiss those tears away, but has learned that Carlos needs his space in those moments. The tears will dry to nothing, neglected and unloved.

On these mornings, Cecil slowly rises, body protesting, and makes the coffee. He doesn’t need it to wake up, or at least he didn’t before he became woefully addicted, but it seems to help with his symptoms. In his absence, the scientist has fallen back into deep slumber, so Cecil strokes his hair until his eyes flicker open.

On this morning, Cecil asks, “Hello, my dear. Do you think you’re going to go to the lab or will you be staying in?”

"Reports to work on," Carlos says, which means the latter. Cecil lies down again, facing him–that paperwork waiting for him at the station can wait a little longer. He strokes his scientist’s face lightly as Carlos huffs a sigh. 

"Do you want me to bring you coffee?"

"I’ll get it."

Cecil runs his thumb along his scientist’s lower lip. Carlos cracks a small, fond smile.

"You have work," he says.

"Mm-hmm," says Cecil absently.

After a while, after listening to the sounds of cars from the nearby highway and breathing each other’s air, close and warm, Carlos says, “Let’s get up,” which is his way of asking for a little assistance. 

Cecil forces himself up again, limbs tired and joint pain confused at this re-awakening, his clothes mussed from being lain on. He holds out a hand and helps pull Carlos into a sitting position, and then to his feet. He tries not to grimace. While Carlos pulls on some semblance of clothing, Cecil goes into the kitchen, makes a mug of coffee with two spoonfulls of sugar mixed thoroughly into it, and places it next to the scientist’s closed laptop on the kitchen table. He proceeds to very, very carefully open the fridge, and complete other breakfast related tasks. He takes two naproxen pills with his black coffee. The rest of his pills he will take after eating.

When Cecil is ready to go, Carlos is seated at his computer with an untouched plate of eggs, clicking the trackpad and glaring a little at the screen. Cecil kisses him once before leaving.

Cecil starts that day’s broadcast, “Remember to eat your eggs. Welcome to Night Vale.”


End file.
